The Diabolical Baron by Mary Jo Putney Read Free Book Online Page B

by leaving the room for his club. 
     

Chapter 4
     
    R ichard Davenport’s leg was aching badly by the time he reached the legal offices of Chelmsford and Marlin, but since that was common nowadays, he ig nored it. He was taking long daily walks to rebuild the damaged leg as much as possible; on difficult days, like this one, he carried a cane and distracted himself by whistling complicated musical themes.
    He had always been a whistler, and often maddened and intrigued his fellow officers with his habit of whistling tunes that were comments or footnotes to what was being discussed. When other amusements were in short supply, as was often the case in the Penin sular campaigns, it was considered a good game to guess what chain of unconscious logic led Captain Dal ton to whistle his current choice.
    It wasn’t hard to un derstand why mentioning London brought forth “Oranges and Lemons,” or a lament on the lack of de cent drink a chorus of “John Barleycorn.” But some times the references were more obscure, and numerous energetic discussions had resulted on why “A-Rovin’ ” or “Jack the Jolly Tar” had been heard. Richard was no help; when questioned, he would just smile and whistle a Spanish phrase that translated as “Who knows?”
    More than a week had passed since his initial discus sion with Josiah Chelmsford, and he was still uncertain whether the life of an earl was worth considering. Josiah had invited him back with the bait of more infor mation on his parents’ early years.
    He entered the of fice and was received by the clerk with much more civility than on his first visit. He smiled wryly. Such toad-eating would doubtless be a principal side effect of becoming a peer of the realm.
    Josiah greeted Richard with a handshake and a jovial “Good day, my boy. You are looking very much more the thing than when we last met. Are you coming to terms with your unexpected fortune?”
    “Good day sir. I am sorry to disappoint you, but I have no more idea what to do now than last week.”
    “I don’t want to press you, but I must explain way your grandfather tied up the es tate. It has been almost exactly a year since he died. Under the terms of the will, I was to administer the es tate for eighteen months while a search was made for Julius Davenport or his heir. The earl was estranged from your father for much longer than the seven years it takes to declare a missing person dead, but when he revised his will after the death of your second uncle, I told him of the letters I had received from Julius.
    “Your father had notified me of your birth, and in the absence of evidence to the contrary, I preferred to assume you were alive. Unfortunately I had no idea where to look for you. Your father’s letters were re markably unforthcoming. He was determined that no one should trace him.
    “At any rate, if no direct heir is found after eighteen months, the estate will pass to the heir presumptive, your father’s cousin Reginald Davenport. He is the son of the earl’s younger brother, but closer in age to you than to your father.”
    Chelmsford paused and fiddled with the pipe he had been puffing. “Your grandfather did not like many peo ple, but he particularly disliked Reginald. Your cousin has quite a reputation as a gamester, fighter, and all-around rake. He was forbidden entry to his lordship’s presence for the last ten years. Nonetheless, he assumes himself to be the next earl and has all but painted a crest on his carriage. He is pressing me to wind this business up as quickly as possible. I suspect he has been living on his expectations for some time.”
    “You haven’t told anyone about me, have you?”
    “No, no, I will respect your wishes on that point. The only one who knows is my senior clerk, Wilkes, and he is discretion personified. I would like to suggest some thing to you. Why not go to Gloucestershire with me and visit the estate unofficially? You could stay there as Richard Dalton. We